


After Midnight

by Gia279



Series: Practice Ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Derek, Ficlet, Human AU, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, bad language probably, short one shot thingy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Derek makes an assumption.  He is wrong.





	After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [За полночь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756305) by [greencrayon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greencrayon/pseuds/greencrayon)



> So it has come to my attention that I don't know how to write, er, ficlets? Drabbles? TINY SHORT THINGS? So this is me, practicing. I was going to post this for Valentine's Day but I got nervous and didn't. Ummm anyway. Sorry it's so dumb ha
> 
> I have a few more that I'll probably post too so I'll just...make a series. Because why not.
> 
> [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian) gave me the prompt: " **Prompt:** “Derek has returned from NY to beacon hills. Just landed a job at the police station. Late at night on his way home from the store from stocking the loft with food he sees who he thinks is a teenage prostitute. Wanting to help the kid, he offers him a ride with the intention to feed him and give him a place to stay for the night. Image his face when he realizes the kid is not a prostitute and actually his new bosses son.” er...well...yeah.

Derek hated planes. Actually, he hated most public transit of any kind, where other humans gathered in groups. It was a form of torture, and he honestly, in the bottom of his heart, believed that there should be privacy curtains around each seat on the plane and bus. It was just cruel otherwise. 

On top of his hellish trip home, he also had to unpack all of his crap, and whoever told him it was more cost effective to unpack his own stuff instead of paying a company to do it for him ought to be shot. (Looking at you, Todd-from-payroll) 

It was nearing eleven at night, but he was starving, and since he started his new job at the sheriff's station in the morning, he would need food. He grumbled and shoved himself to his feet. He'd gotten the loft at a steep discount, possibly since he was a local returning home, but more likely due to the terrible wiring and absolute lack of central heating. 

He'd get to work on fixing it up later. For now, food. He was going to have to head out to the Wal-Mart in the next town over; Beacon Hills had absolutely nothing in the way of night life. 

 

Derek went a little overboard at Wal-Mart. As one does. He had enough food and snacks that he probably wouldn't have to leave his house for at least two weeks, if he didn't want to. It was past midnight when he was leaving, the back of the car laden with so many bags it was a wonder the poor thing wasn't dragging. 

Derek was feeling pretty good about things when he saw the boy. 

He was standing on the corner, hands in his pockets, shivering in a partially unzipped red hoodie with what looked like nothing underneath it and tight, dark blue jeans. His face was drawn and extremely young, but he perked up when he saw Derek's car slowing next to him. He waved and leaned close to the passenger window.

Wary, Derek rolled it down. "Are you alright?" he asked, and wondered how old the kid was. Sixteen? Seventeen?

He bobbed his head. "Yeah, I mean, no, I'm freezing, but...hey." His gaze swept over Derek's face. He offered a lascivious grin, but his eyes were cautious. 

"Hey," Derek replied. 

"Where you headed?" he asked in a low voice, licking his bottom lip.

Derek's jaw dropped. Okay, so it was definitely not his first time encountering a prostitute. It wasn't even his first time encountering an _obviously_ underage prostitute. But…But this was Beacon County. This was the place that still had a local paper delivered to everyone's front doors and where you couldn't sneeze in the privacy of your own home without your neighbor offering you a tissue. He eyed the boy. Maybe he was from out of town and hitching on his way to...wherever. "I'm heading home," Derek said firmly.

"Oh?" the boy tipped his head. "Where's home?"

"Beacon Hills."

A grin broke over his face. " _Really._ Well, this is a coincidence. So am I."

Yeah, Derek just bet. Well, New York or Beacon Hills, he knew these kids weren't getting enough to eat and this kid in particular didn't have nearly enough layers for the temperature drop at night. "Why don't I give you a ride?"

The boy's face lit, but before he could speak, Derek continued, " _Just_ a ride. I've got food and a spare sweater, too."

The boy nodded. "Sure, sure. I'm Stiles."

Derek snorted. "Okay. I'm Derek Hale." He unlocked the doors and cranked the heat up. 

"Stiles" crunched happily enough on a bag of Doritos the whole ride back. He ate so quickly that it broke Derek's heart a little bit. When was the last time he _ate_? 

He was wearing the spare NYPD sweatshirt Derek had given him when he'd gotten in, spilling orange crumbs down the front. 

"I'll make some real food upstairs," he offered when they reached the loft.

Stiles flicked a wary glance up at the loft. "Actually, I'm good. Thanks for the lift, dude." He licked nacho cheese from his fingers. "I can walk from here."

Derek tried to protest, but he was already scrambling from the car and rushing down the sidewalk at a fast clip. He scowled.

Derek figured he was better off in Beacon Hills than on the street corner by freaking Wal-Mart. He rubbed his face and headed upstairs. Maybe tomorrow after he'd gotten settled at the department he could mention it to the sheriff. Maybe he knew the kid. Maybe he was a local and had been trying to run away or something. 

 

Derek slept for a half hour total, plagued by images of what could happen to the kid out there by himself, approaching strangers. He spent the rest of the night driving around like a creeper, searching for the kid. He was nearly late for his first day. The front desk officer beamed at him and handed him some paperwork. 

"The sheriff will be with you in a minute. How was your trip?"

Considering he hadn't slept all night and it was only nine in the morning, Derek thought this question was the most infuriating thing he'd ever heard. Were his eyes not bloodshot enough to answer that for her? "Fine," he grunted, sitting in one of the plastic visitor's chairs to do the paperwork.

"-seriously, Dad, I'm telling you, the guy has got to be your new deputy. Look at this sweatshirt. A stranger with a NYPD sweatshirt living in Beacon Hills?"

Derek stiffened and looked toward the open office door. No way.

"What's your point, Stiles?"

No. No. No. Derek was going to flee the country. 

"My point, father-mine, is that your new deputy is like twelve different kinds of hot." 

Derek looked at the door, wondering if he could make it before they reached the lobby. But-

"Ah, you must be Mr. Hale." Sheriff Stilinski smiled grimly at him. "I believe you've met my son."

The boy behind him grinned and waved. "Brought your sweatshirt!" 

Derek should've stayed in New York.


End file.
